


Holy water

by LadyLoss15



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e03 Hard Times, Established Relationship, Fraternizing, Holy Water, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Nightmares, Pre-Relationship, doduckshaveears, soft!Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-01 22:57:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20926295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLoss15/pseuds/LadyLoss15
Summary: Aziraphale's heart breaks a little when Crowley asks for holy water and Crowley's heart breaks a little when Aziraphale hands him the thermos. aka a possible interpretation of the holy-water-related three scenes from Hard Times. Enjoy!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything (apart from papers for university) in more than two years at this point, so please please bear that in mind. Hope you like it tho - first fic for this fandom.

In spite of the unusually lovely weather at this time of the year and his usual cool, Crowley definitely seems tense. Aziraphale decides to ignore it for the moment, too interested in why the demon asked him to meet in person, and too thrilled to see him again.

His sideburns, Aziraphale notices just a tad disappointed, cover the tattoo under his right ear. He babbles on about needing a favor and things going pear-shaped.

'I like pears' chimes in Aziraphale, starting to get peckish just from the mention of food. Maybe he could stop by that bakery on his way back to the bookshop. Or perhaps that delightful new tea-house just around the corner.

As his mind is filled with different opportunities of getting a second breakfast, the angel takes no notice of Crowley's apparent discomfort - not until the demon hands him a piece of paper, muttering about trees having ears.

If Aziraphale paid any attention to him now, he could see how visibly calmer he seems now, having delivered his message. The built-up pressure is lifting from his chest, as if that piece of paper weighed way more than it actually does. Maybe because it was the content that was so heavy.

'Ducks have ears' he adds pointedly, then frowns. 'Do ducks have ears?'

But Aziraphale hears none of his musings about ducks having or not having ears, distracted by that small piece of paper given to him moments ago.

holy water

Time seems to stop.

Crowley wants holy water.

Crowley thinks about killing himself and that foolish demon had the audacity to ask _him_, of all beings, to hand him the means. Aziraphale's world is about to crumble on itself. _How could he ask me to do that?_

'Out of question' he manages to sputter. 'I'm not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley.'

Holy water, for Heaven's sake. Why? How? Crowley dead? Never.

'Not what I want it for' spats Crowley, seemingly angry. Now, how on Earth could _he _be angry with _Aziraphale_ for rejecting the request? Was he so completely out of his mind?

Moreover, what if Heaven found out he was stealing holy water for a demon? They would surely smite both of them down. Was that what the demon was going for? Destroying both of them? That would definitely have fitted his style, the bastard.

'I'm not an idiot, Crowley' says Aziraphale, trying to stay calm, or at least compose himself and pretend calm for the time being. Which quickly goes out the window with his next sentence. Who the hell is he kidding, calm is far from where he is, very far.

Holy water for a demon. For Crowley. He'll never let that happen.

Their argument unwinds and Aziraphale is not sure what exactly is said between them until, just when he turns to leave, basically fleeing the scene, one sentence breaks through the fog and it's like a punch to the gut.

'I don't need you.'

It stops Aziraphale in his tracks. He is so angry, so hurt. So angry.

'And the feeling is mutual' he turns around to say. 'Obviously.'

With that, he turns his back on Crowley, fully prepared to leave. Realizing he is still clutching that offending piece of paper, he throws it into the lake with all his might. Unfortunately, throwing a piece of paper out of anger has never really been a satisfying act whatsoever, since paper can only fly and slowly fall to the ground. Should have been a stone, or a bag, or even a car. Something Aziraphale could actually throw.

He is fuming until he gets back to the bookshop, all thoughts of getting food completely forgotten.

Holy water for the demon. What an absurd request. What an absolutely mad request.

He spends all night contemplating the ramifications. A whole week is dedicated to envisioning the worst of his fears. It's not until years later that he can look at holy water and not shiver instantly.

*

In spite of the ticklish situation he just found himself in, when the demon practically dances into the church, Aziraphale's soul lits up.

Apparently, he has changed his name again, this time adding Anthony J in front of Crowley.

'Anthony?' he says in mild amusement.

'You don't like it?' asks Crowley, actually concerned with the answer.

'I'll get used to it' smirks Aziraphale, and he is grateful for the light topic of conversation, grateful for seeing the demon, grateful for being on speaking terms again.

And then their delicate harmony falls apart when Crowley, being the unpleasant demon he is, looks at the holy water very pointedly, and brings Aziraphale's attention to it. Then, as if to himself, he mutters, 'they don't even guard it."

After which it is a matter of fleeting seconds and a few words traded between nazi spies and the demon and the church gets bombed - the angel successfully performing the asked for miracle to save Crowley and himself. And forgetting about the _books_, of all things.

When Crowley hands him the bag with a muttered 'little demonic miracle of my own', Aziraphale's heart melts. He can't say anything, can't even move, all he can do is stare after the demon sauntering through the rubble.

*

In spite of having gotten used to the angel showing up at unexpected times with no sound at all to signal his arrival, Crowley is actually startled when he gets into his car and, as he turns his head, finds Aziraphale sitting there.

He is usually more than happy to see his angel, and this is no exception either, not until he reveals he is here because of the church robbing thing. As if he could persuade him from going through with it. On some level, Crowley hopes he will try to do so, because then he would be able to tell him how it is all his fault, refusing to help him. He does have others to fraternize with, after all.

When the angel says something about it being 'too dangerous', something snaps in Crowley. He has waited for more than a century, hoping the angel would change his mind, hoping to be able to change his mind. He gave up because he knows Aziraphale's reasons all too well. 105 years and he still remembers that argument by the lake clear as day.

_Out of question. I don't need you - And the feeling is mutual. Obviously. Feeling is mutual._

He only said that out of fury, to get a rise out of the angel. Perhaps also because he hoped that by saying out loud he could make it true. No such luck. He needed the angel, more than ever. _The feeling is mutual. Obviously._ And the angel turned around and left him there. The piece of paper, with a piece of his heart, his vulnerability, his need for the angel to trust and help him, a burning pile on the water, falling into ashes and slowly sinking to the depths of the lake. Crowley felt as if a piece of his heart has sunk with it as well, crumbled, discarded by the angel.

'But I can't have you risking your life' says Aziraphale firmly and it tugs Crowley back into the present.

And he hands him a thermos. Crowley doesn't even dare to hope. He cannot believe.

Aziraphale is pale and blushing at the same time, as impossible as that seems.

Crowley, still in disbelief, feels washed away by a wave of gratitude.

'Should I say thank you?' he asks carefully.

'Better not' advises the angel, staring straight ahead. He seems shaken. He might have given him what he wanted, but he is sure as hell not happy about it. Probably not proud of it either. Crowley wonders what reasoning may lie behind this unexpected act.

\- It goes along the lines of 'He's going to do this with or without me, and I want to be there for him. Also, I could save him a lot of trouble and danger by helping. The least I can do is make it less dangerous for him. Foolish demon.' But Aziraphale will never say so. He will never want to speak of this again, if possible. -

As Crowley is fighting his emotions, love seeping through his eyes, the angel goes on.

'Perhaps one day we could, I don't know, go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.' He sounds hopeful. The thermos was his bouquet of flowers, in a way.

This all sounds horrifying and amazing at the same time, and Crowley wants to start the Bentley and drive straight to the nearest park, even though they have no picnic basket or any food at all, for that matter, and it's the bloody middle of the night. He discards the idea and starts to think about the fastest route to the Ritz.

Then it occurs to him that 'perhaps one day' might not actually mean 'right now'. But the angel wants to spend time with him. Do something together with him. Eat out with him. That gives him enough of a thrill. Maybe he could do some shopping in the morning, he does not have the church thing on his agenda anymore anyways, so all he has is free time on his hands and eagerness to spend as much of that with the angel as possible.

Yes, that will do. Picnic tomorrow. Dinner at the Ritz sometime next week, maybe.

For now, he politely offers to take Aziraphale anywhere he wants to go. Secretly, he hopes the angel will say 'to the Ritz'. He doesn't. Even in spite of all his insistence of taking him somewhere, anywhere, everywhere, really, just let him enjoy Aziraphale's company for a little longer, the angel does not want to stay.

'You go too fast for me, Crowley' he says, a tinge of sadness in his voice, before he gets out of the car, leaving Crowley to his own darkness, loneliness and crushed dreams.

_You go too fast for me._

Did Aziraphale sense his eagerness? Did that scare him away? Maybe he just meant his offer for the far away future. Next century, or so. Maybe it was only pleasantries he tried to lighten the mood with, not actual intention to spend time with a demon.

Crowley bangs his head into the steering wheel. It never occurs to him that Aziraphale meant his driving style, not his dating tactics.

He sighs, welcomes the bitter disappointment in his chest, and drives home to scream at his plants all night long.


	2. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I ended up writing a sequel to the previous chapter. Aziraphale has a nightmare and Crowley comforts him.

The first sip of tea was scalding hot against Aziraphale's tongue, then it burned its way down his throat, and at the end he could finally feel the warmth in his stomach. He took another sip instantly, concentrating on the sensations. Sip, swallow, breath. Sip, swallow, breath. Repeat.

His cup emptied way too soon, but he could feel his thoughts calming, the tea smoothing the raw edges of his emotions. He poured himself another cup, placed it on the saucer and lay back in his comfortable armchair, slightly to the side from its usual position by the desk.

It was that time of the night when most of the drunkards and party-goers have already cleared from the streets but the first wave of early-shift workers were not yet out and about. The most still and quiet hour of the whole day. Aziraphale sipped his tea and closed his eyes, only to open them the next second, worried gaze looking for Crowley.

And the demon was right there, in his bed - _their _bed, Aziraphale corrected himself -, sleeping under the thick covers, curled up around the angel's pillow. It was rather a heartwarming sight, really. And, quite frankly, Aziraphale's heart needed all the warming it could get. The tea and his demon, safe and sound in their room at the back of the bookshop, definitely helped. But it wasn't quite enough.

Aziraphale had been sleeping, something he started doing only recently, and only because cuddling a sleepy and soft Crowley was irresistible, which then inadvertently led to the angel falling asleep too. But with sleep came dreams, and occasionally, nightmares.

Crowley had also had nightmares frequently, but he seemed to be less shaken by them. Either he was a very good actor or he had already gotten used to them, Aziraphale did not know for sure. He guessed it could be both.

He, however, could never go back to sleep after having a nightmare. On more than one occasion it took him several days and a good amount of coaxing from Crowley's side to dare to fall asleep again. He had a suspicion this was going to be such a case too.

The previous evening had been wonderful, really. They had been to the theater, watching a comedy of Shakespeare's - _not one of the gloomy ones again, angel, please_ -, after which they had a lovely dinner at a lovely restaurant and spent the rest of the night cuddled up on the sofa by the fire, because Crowley seemed to need more heat as the weather was gradually getting colder and colder outside. They even got a good few hours of sleep before Aziraphale's recurring nightmare returned at full force.

The beginning was always different, which meant literally all of his dreams could at one point turn into _the nightmare._ No wonder he wasn't really fond of dreaming at all. This night it started off with a rather innocent scene at Tadfield, Crowley and himself being invited over for Sunday lunch at Anathema's hut. Newton was there too, obviously, and he wanted to show them some new plant they got for their home that was refusing to grow, or even stay alive. He seemed rather downcast about it, so Crowley offered to have a word with them, at which point Aziraphale, knowing all too well how the demon usually talked to his poor plants, quickly interfered and asked Crowley to stay put until he investigated the case with Newton. The young man had taken him to the backyard, which had taken at least a good five minutes, there being a strange sort of labyrinth just in front of the back door, but Aziraphale did not question it, having already learned that dreams can sometimes take very unlikely turns. By the time they got to the plant in question, Crowley was somehow standing there, scolding the poor flower in a rather rude manner. Upon hearing Newton and the angel arrive, he turned his back on the plant, a look of dissatisfaction on his face. He could not see the plant starting to grow at an alarming speed behind his back, quickly doubling and tripling its size, leaves shaking angrily. One of its thicker vines reached out to the side and grabbed a watering pot from the ground, slowly raising it above Crowley's head. Aziraphale started shouting at the demon, pointing and waving to get his attention, being aware that whatever was in that pot could hurt Crowley. It was too late though. He could not move, not a limb or even his wings. All he could do was watch with horror how the monster plant turned on his demon and started pouring holy water all over him. Crowley cried out in pain as his red hair started smoking, his face melting away, his skin sizzling. Aziraphale watched on, aghast, as Crowley was burned to death by holy water, his body disappearing, his very essence ceasing to exist. His demon was no more. Aziraphale screamed in pain, screamed until his ears popped, his eyes couldn't see and he fainted.

Only to wake up in bed, sweaty and out of breath that he did not need anyway, quiet sobs shaking his entire body. Usually, Crowley woke up just before or right when he did, cuddling him close, stroking his arms and back, shushing him until he calmed down. His embrace was the only thing Aziraphale wanted or needed in those moments.

Tonight, however, Crowley did not wake, only stirred when the angel woke from the nightmare. He must have been exhausted, not having slept much for the past two weeks due to his own nightmares and Aziraphale's inexplicable desire to talk through all night, discussing both the deepest questions about existence and the smallest, most ridiculous topics that just happened to pop into his mind. They loved conversations that lasted the entire night - but those often left Crowley grumpy and tired the next day.

So here they were now, Crowley sound asleep, snuggled up to Aziraphale's pillow in their bed, and the angel sipping his - miraculously - still steaming hot tea in his armchair, which he conveniently moved so that he had a perfect view of their bed, and the demon in it. He needed the visual reinforcement that Crowley was okay.

A shaft of moonlight illuminated his thin face, relaxed and soft in spite of all the edges. His hair, ruffled and flaming red even in the pale light drew a nice contrast to the white linen. His mouth was slightly open and Aziraphale could have sworn he was drooling on the pillow. The sight was so peaceful, so achingly sweet, that he put down his cup of tea and leaned forward so that he could take a closer look.

He sighed, trying to find that peacefulness in himself. He had his demon now, and that was all that mattered. Not the six thousand years of denial before. Not the Armageddon that wasn't. Not the trial they had at the end. It was the dinner at the Ritz, the countless nights and days they had spent together since then. It was not the past, it was the present, he told himself. But his arms felt empty, his chest cold, as if the bed and the sleeping demon were miles away, not right before his eyes. It all just felt too good to be true, their little happy bubble too vulnerable not to pop.

Aziraphale stood on shaking legs and tiptoed to the bed. He was determined not to wake Crowley, mostly because he did not want to burden the demon with his depressing thoughts, but his need to be touching him was too overwhelming to be ignored any longer. He sank down on the bed, his back to the bedhead, his thighs brushing against the sleeping Crowley. Tentatively, he placed a hand upon the demon's head, fingers playing with his silky hair. It felt nice, soothing.

He contemplated simply lying down and spooning Crowley but decided against it, not wanting to disturb his sleep. However, he shouldn't have worried about that, as the demon stirred and moved closer, as if seeking his heat and his touch. Reacting to his closeness.

When Crowley, the badass demon all hard edges and grumpy remarks, threw out his hand and, grabbing on to Aziraphale's hip, basically drew himself into the angel's lap, curling his face against the stroking palm, Aziraphale melted. He was so head over heels for his demon.

And he had almost lost him.

The sob escaped his lips before he could have stopped it. A tear slid down his face, quickly followed by many others. His whole body was shaking, his heart breaking in two as an image of a _dying Crowley_ popped into his mind. He felt pathetic, but could not stop the tears, however much they burned his throat.

'Angel?' asked a confused, sleepy voice.

_It's all right, dear boy, go back to sleep_, he wanted to say. Except he could not choke out the words, it was only a wretched hiccup that escaped through his lips.

'Aziraphale? Angel, hey,' murmured Crowley. With eerily snake-like movements he lifted his body from Aziraphale's lap and his concerned face was suddenly only inches away from the angel's, his breath hot on Aziraphale's cheeks. 'Hey, baby, what is it?'

'I-I just... Y-You...' whimpered the angel, not making much sense. He took a shaky, deep breath and tried again, focusing on Crowley's beautiful yellow eyes. 'I had a b-bad dream' he managed to say.

'Oh, angel, it's alright' sighed the demon, loving gaze linked to the angel's. He gave a soft peck of the lips, eyes never leaving Aziraphale's. 'You're okay, I promise. Everything's good. You're good, I'm good, we're good, just peachy, really.'

His calm words, accompanied by his big palm stroking soothing circles on Aziraphale's chest and arms, his electric yellow gaze never faltering, were enough for the angel to stop panicking. However, the tears did not want to stop.

'Come 'ere, angel' whispered Crowley, pulling the crying Aziraphale into his embrace, lying back down in the bed. He put his nose into the angel's hair and planted soft kisses on the top of his head. 'I got you, 'ts all good' he promised again.

Aziraphale was gradually calming down, but he felt his chest tight with the dark knowledge of what had upset him so much. Dared he share the root of his nightmare with Crowley? Was he allowed to pass on such a burden to the love of his life? The demon often told him about his nightmares, confessing his deepest fears and regrets in the dark of their bedroom. Was he supposed to follow his example? If so, shouldn't he start with a smaller issue maybe, a minor inconvenience that was bothering him, instead of the single most terrifying thing that haunted his thoughts.

'You can talk to me, love' murmured Crowley into his hair, as if reading his mind. Aziraphale snuggled closer to the demon's chest, pushing his face into the cradle of his neck, sniffing his lovely smell. There was nothing that smelled even distinctly as good as Crowley, and Aziraphale had six millennia of experience with smells, so he should know.

'I dreamed that you died' he admitted, his voice barely audible. 'A huge plant sprayed you with holy water, and _you died_' he cried, the last words turning into a bitter sob. Crowley's arms drew closer around him, clutching him in a strong hug, almost bone-crushing. Aziraphale had no idea how much he needed the feel of it until it happened. He clutched back, clinging to his demon.

'But I am very much alive, angel' said Crowley in a raspy voice. 'It was just a dream. I am here, okay?'

Aziraphale nodded and let himself be calmed again by the demon's attentive touch.

'I keep having this nightmare, you know, my dear' whispered Aziraphale after they lay there for some time, just cuddling in silence.

'Wot, a giant plant killin' me?' asked Crowley, astounded. 'That's nice. You should know I have them under control,' he teased, a hint of smugness in his voice. Aziraphale suspected it was mostly to lighten the mood.

'No, it's always something different. The only constant is the holy water. And that I stand by and can do nothing to stop it.'

'Oh, you would come up with something before even a drop of that shit touches me, angel, I have no doubts' assured Crowley. 'In reality, you are a fuckin' badass. _Our _side always wins. We stopped the Apocalypse, screwed over both Heaven and Hell at the same time, and we manage to tolerate each other daily. I say if we can pull that off, nothing can stop us.'

Aziraphale raised his face and took in the stupid, smug grin spread over Crowley's face. Oh, he loved his demon dearly.

'But they almost made you bathe in holy water. In a whole tub of it. And you used holy water to kill a demon in your own flat. It has been already too many close calls' he argued. He knew it would be easier to just stay silent but he needed to get it out, now that they started poking at the topic. 'I still tremble at the memory of _handing you_ a whole thermos of it.'

'I am sorry it had come to that. I know it was hard on you, angel, but it did come in handy later on, you see' pointed out Crowley. Obviously, he was right, but that did not mean Aziraphale did not feel guilty over it. 'That was a shitty night though.'

Aziraphale hummed in agreement, but then started to think about it. It was definitely not one of his finest moments, but why would it have been a bad memory for Crowley? He got what he wanted, after all, with no argument or fight at all. Crowley surely had no reason to think of that night bitterly.

'I thought you were quite glad about the whole thing, dear boy' he mumbled, voicing his confusion. They were talking about it, after all, and he had a suspicion they were not going to do it again any time soon. Old wounds of the past were usually better left alone.

'Oh, I was happy about the holy water all right' admitted Crowley. 'But that thing you said at the end, that left me, I dunno, kinda feeling not so peachy.'

_What did I say at the end? _mused Aziraphale. He could only remember mentioning the prospect of a future date, and that he left the car in a rather peaceful atmosphere. Even promising, really.

'You said I go too fast for you?' prompted Crowley when seeing the clueless expression on the angel's face. 'I was about to kiss you, take you to the Ritz on a date right at that moment. I was completely besotted.'

'Oh, dear boy!' exclaimed Aziraphale. He did remember now. No wonder he never paid much attention to what he had said back then, since he had not meant what Crowley had thought he meant. 'But I was just talking about your driving. You always drive too fast for me!'

'You wot?' asked Crowley absolutely baffled. 'You mean to tell me I was suffering over a badly placed comment and deliberately not meeting you for years because you were not able to simply word your meaning better?'

'It's not my fault you misinterpreted what I said' protested Aziraphale. 'I could not have been clearer about wanting to go on a date with you! It's only your stupid demon skull that could not get it right away.'

'Yeah, sure, it's always the demon's fault' murmured Crowley with mock grumpiness. He was still shocked about the revelation. All that pining and self-hate for nothing.

It did fit nicely into their history of six thousand years of ignoring and fighting their feelings though.

'Just so you know, I do love your idiotic ambiguous speech, angel' hummed Crowley contentedly into Aziraphale's mouth as he leaned down for a kiss. 'But I'd much prefer if you just kept telling me straight away if you fancied me so that we can skip all the misery in the future'

'In that case, my dear' smirked Aziraphale, 'I must tell you that I am quite fond of you, as it is.'

They shared a long, soft kiss, that turned deeper after Crowley licked his forked tongue into the angel's eager mouth.

'Do try to sleep back, angel' he whispered, breaking away from the kiss. 'I'm not going anywhere, alright?'

'Alright' sighed Aziraphale, suddenly rather sleepy. The demon's embrace always did wonders to him.

'Love you, angel, with all my heart' mumbled Crowley, cuddling closer, and promptly falling asleep.

And, against all odds, as the morning sun's first rays appeared on the horizon, Aziraphale dozed off as well, the hint of a fond smile playing over his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it :) Comments are always welcome, if you can spare a few seconds to help me with feedback.


End file.
